


Once Upon A Waltz In Vienna

by xspike4evax



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xspike4evax/pseuds/xspike4evax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drusilla contemplates what she see's in William's dreamscape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Waltz In Vienna

Once Upon A Waltz In Vienna 

They were dancing; gliding and spinning across the floor where the warm glow from the large candelabra on the high domed ceiling reflected in the polished wood. There was a live orchestra at the far end of the ballroom playing The Blue Danube Waltz and they moved seamlessly together. 

Turning, turning, turning and reverse. 

She wore white silk; the bodice studded with tiny diamonds the skirt falling graciously to whisper around her legs as she moved. She smiled at him from beneath a mask of white with a feather on the left side which covered her eyes and nose. Those eyes, beautifully green like sparkling emeralds and leaves in the sunshine stared up at him full to the brim with emotion. 

He wore black, a white rose at his lapel and his mask of black silk hid his face from her; but that didn’t stop her looking at him with eyes which were soft and loving. He held a delicate, fragile angel in his arms and he knew it. 

Twirling, twirling, twirling and reverse. 

Back they went, dipping and swaying to the music. The ballroom was gone and they were floating on a cloud in a night of black velvet where the candles were replaced with stars and the air was filled with more than seduction and promise; the desire to devour poorly concealed. 

Her skin was pale like his, but where he looked as though he were carved from marble she glowed with vibrancy and life, small freckles broke up the surface of her skin and her warmth permeated his very bones. 

Beneath the swell of the music was the steady beat of her heart. It resonated through his body, it touched the long dead heart in his own chest; it beat for him.

Spinning, spinning, spinning and reverse. 

The burnished auburn of her hair rippling down her back gleamed in the moonlight, richer and softer than the silk of her dress. Her left hand in his was small and delicate, her right hand curled over his shoulder held a little too tightly as though she didn’t want to let him go. Her lips curled at the corners and she glanced up shyly through her mask. He wasn’t always sure what to say either, sometimes it overwhelmed him too; this love between them. 

The music stopped but he didn’t care, he could dance with her all night. They could make their own music, the kind that would shame the best symphonies and cause those world renowned concertos to fade into insignificance. 

With her, anything was possible. 

She stopped dancing throwing him off balance for a moment. Her hands dropped to her sides and she stepped back. 

Fear caught hold of him as he pulled himself free of the mask; she must see his face, see how desperate and determine he was that she would stay. 

She removed her mask with slow, precise movements; she wanted to stay longer too, but something, some unnamed force was pulling her away, pulling them apart, he could feel it. 

“You can’t leave,” he reached for her but she slid through his fingers like mist on the wind. 

She smiled and it warmed him down to his toes. “I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, Spike.” 

XxX 

Drusilla propelled the rocking chair with her foot; back and forth, back and forth, the old wood creaking mournfully every now and again. Her needle flashed in the firelight as she worked busily at her crocheting. 

It had not been what she was expecting to see. When she had caught William’s eyes and told him to see with his heart the dreamscape she had fallen into had taken her by surprise. 

A little frown creased her forehead and she clicked her tongue against her bottom teeth. “Silly William.” His imagination was somewhat lacking and that was disappointing. He had been dancing a Viennese Waltz in Vienna, how unoriginal. She knew it was Vienna, she recognised the ballroom. Nowhere did they have such splendid ballrooms as they did in Vienna. 

Her needled stilled as her eyes drifted to the window where she could look out at the stars. Another frown wrinkled Drusilla’s forehead and she gave them a cross look, she had been asking very nicely and waiting quite patiently for the answers but they refused to reveal them. They would not tell her the name of the Goddess with fire in hair in William’s dreamscape, they would not say how she was to find her; they were most vexing. 

He did everything so hard her dear, sweet, depraved boy. He fought hard. He lived hard. He felt hard. He loved hardest of all. 

She touched light fingers to her heart, she was glad it didn’t work in quite the same way it used to for the look on his face when the girl had disappeared into the dark recess of his subconscious, leaving William alone on his cloud in silence and darkness had been heartbreaking. 

The bedroom door opened and Angelus poked his head around the gap. “Come, Dru, we’re going out. Time to eat.” 

Drusilla placed her needlework on the table and rose from the rocking chair. She curtseyed once and took up the proper pose her arms lifted to the hand and shoulder of her imaginary partner. She spun effortlessly towards the door humming the strains of The Blue Danube Waltz.

Darla was on the landing buttoned up in a long red coat and a seal muff against the cold she would not feel. She watched Drusilla’s dance. “I miss Vienna. We should go back, Angelus.” 

Angelus shrugged his large shoulders. “If you like.” 

The suggestion cheered Drusilla. In Vienna she would find William’s dream-girl and the world would be as it should be. 

“Gloves, Drusilla,” Darla reminded her as she made her way down the stairs. 

Drusilla obediently turned back to her room to fetch the forgotten gloves. They were sitting on her vanity table beside her doll Miss Edith, who looked quite fetching in her dress of green velvet with white lace and delicate ruffles. Her dark eyes met those of Miss Edith, more than just coloured glass they were, but only she could see that, only she was to share in the secrets Miss Edith whispered so conspiratorially. 

So Miss Edith knew, that was interesting and very promising. Miss Edith was never wrong about matters of the heart. 

It was an odd name but after rolling it around in her head for a moment Drusilla decided she liked it. It spoke of nature and earth and all things growing in the ground; wasn’t that just like William, trying to reach for the stars when what he truly needed and wanted was right there on the ground within touching distance. 

Drusilla looked out at the stars as she slipped on her gloves a triumphant smile on her face. “Willow,” she pronounced and flounced from the room. The stars could not keep secrets from her for long; she always found them out and took a girlish delight in doing so. 

She was on her way down the stairs when she heard the soft voices whispering to her. Drusilla paused her hand on the smooth wooden railing, her head tipped back towards the window on the landing, the curtains were open framing the picturesque night sky.

Not time. Not time. 

She stayed very still as she considered the words. Yes, they did make sense, and they made her pout. The girl was not waiting for William, but for Spike. She knew as William did not, that he would at some point shed the name of William The Bloody and go by the new name of Spike. She did not know when this would happen, only that it would; she had seen it already but had not told William. It would be a nice surprise for him. 

Darla was in the foyer talking about Vienna when Drusilla came fully down the stairs and William was there half listening. He smiled when he saw her holding out her coat.   
So, she had been wrong, Vienna would not be the romantic trip she had envisaged. Drusilla did enjoy some romance. She preferred the tragic types of stories that ended in death and tears, but she would not wish that for William. His story must have a happy ending with a new addition to the family. 

Sliding her arms into the coat Drusilla caught Darla in her arms and began to waltz around the foyer. Darla tolerated the dancing with a good natured smile, she adored Vienna and was going back. 

“Less dancin', more killin'. I’m bloody starvin’,” William said heading for the door. 

Drusilla released Darla who took a moment to fix her hat before taking Angelus’ arm. 

Drusilla didn’t mind dancing alone and continued to twirl across the foyer. It would all be so terribly romantic. Other couples would see them together and ask how they met and she, the teller of the story, the keeper of the secrets would lean in and whisper, “Once upon a waltz in Vienna.” 

They would sigh and exclaim over it all and then she would eat them all up and bring the proper amount of tragedy to the story. What was a romantic story without tragedy after all? 

But no tragedy for William, only green eyes and red hair and pale skin. Now she knew who she was looking for Drusilla would find her and everything would be moonbeams and star dust all happy together they would be. Nothing could go wrong. 

“You know,” Angelus said. “If we’re going to start traveling again….” 

“Yes alright,” Darla said impatiently. “After we’ve been to Vienna you can take William hunting in Romania. The world will better off with less gypsies in it anyway.”


End file.
